Over The Edge
by Lady Dudley
Summary: In which Sherlock, quite literally, leaps to Molly's rescue. Pre/Implied Sherlolly.


**A/N: A little something inspired by/based on the end scene of the _Taggart_ episode 'Dead Reckoning' (incidentally, my favourite OTP moment for Michael & Jackie) with a dash of another episode ('Apocalypse'). It's not explicitly stated in the story, but Molly is helping Sherlock on a case by going undercover at an adventure park/executive getaway/team building place (as per 'Dead Reckoning'). Oh. and the murderer is called Peter because of the episode as well. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Dedication: for beautywithin22 who shares my love of _Taggart_ and _Sherlock._**

_**Over The Edge**_

In hindsight, confronting the murderer had not been her brightest moment, but she'd never thought that he'd attempt to add her to his body count.

_Don't think, Molly, just run_, ordered a voice in her head, which sounded remarkably like Sherlock. She took the voice's advice and stopped thinking about anything except her next move, quickening her pace as she tried desperately to outrun her pursuer.

She cursed as she skidded to a stop at the top of a sheer drop beside a waterfall; of all the places to run to, she had to choose here. She eyed the rope stretching across the waterfall to the cliff on the other side dubiously, she had refused to do this part of the obstacle course only days before.

A sound from the woods reminded her of the danger she was in and she grabbed the nearby harness. "Here goes nothing," she muttered to herself as she stepped into the harness.

Ignoring the way her fingers trembled, Molly buckled herself into the harness and attached it to the rope. She took a deep, steadying breath before she started to slowly make her way across the top of the waterfall.

For a brief, glorious moment she thought that she was going to make it, but the murderer – a nice man (so she'd thought) called Peter – came running out of the woods. He laughed when he caught sight of her on the rope, "Not so frightened now, are you Molly?" he taunted, grabbing hold of the safety rope used to pull the harness back and forth across the waterfall.

She let out a frightened yelp as he yanked on the rope, pulling Molly back towards him. "No! Please!" she yelled as she struggled to reach the other side, he yanked her back again, "Peter! No!"

"I'm sorry, Molly," he apologised, sounding very unconvincing as he gave the rope another tug, "I'm really, very sorry."

She let out another strangled cry as he continued to pull her mercilessly back towards him, a thought struck her and she started to desperately undo her harness. She breathed a sigh of relief as she unclipped the harness from the rope Peter was using.

Her action elicited another laugh from Peter, "You should know better," he admonished her, "safety first," he taunted, dropping the safety rope and taking hold of the main rope in the pulley system.

She shrieked as he shook the rope and she realised that she'd detached herself from that rope as well. Terrified, she tried to tighten her hold on the rope as he continued to jiggle it up and down.

"Peter!" she wailed desperately as her legs fell from the rope, she looked fearfully down at the water before returning her gaze to her hands, concentrating all her energy on hanging on. "Please!" she cried again.

He gave another hard bounce on the rope and she felt her fingers begin to slip.

Half a mile away, John couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sherlock move so fast.

In the distance he could dimly make out Molly's terrified cries and they seemed to spurn Sherlock on even faster. John puffed a little as he tried to keep up with the consulting detective, silently admitting to himself that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

Sherlock on the other hand, having long since thrown off his signature coat, was moving with surprising speed and dexterity for someone who spent most of their time loafing about in their dressing gown.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, John was certain he would have hated the other man for his impressive athletic ability.

A terrified scream filled the air, causing Sherlock to pause for a fraction of a second before he increased his speed.

John was just about ready to give up the chase – his pride be damned – when they suddenly came face to face with their suspect.

"There's been an accident," Peter said as he came towards them, looking upset.

"Where is she?" Sherlock demanded, surprising John by his almost feral tone as he grabbed Peter by the front of his shirt, "Where's Molly?" he added, giving him a shake for good measure.

Peter made a show of looking distraught, "I told her to always wear the harness…" he began, blinking as though to stop his tears.

"You bastard," Sherlock spat, surprising John again by punching him in the face and racing on.

"Uh…don't go anywhere," John warned Peter who was now prostrate on the ground, clutching his broken nose.

John moved to follow Sherlock and reached the tree-line just in time to see the consulting detective call out Molly's name in a mixture of fear and anguish before throwing himself over the edge of the cliff.

"Bloody hell," John swore, rushing to the side and looking desperately into the churning waters below.

He sagged with relief as he saw Sherlock resurface with Molly, who promptly began coughing and spluttering in an effort to clear her lungs. John shook his head a little in disbelief as he watched Sherlock start to half-carry, half-drag Molly to the riverbank.

A moan from Peter who was still curled up in pain behind him brought John back to his senses and he left the cliff's edge to attend to him.

An hour later, Sherlock and Molly were seated side-by-side in the back of an ambulance, still dripping and wrapped in identical blankets. Molly regarded Sherlock out of the corner of her eye as she quietly sipped a hot chocolate, they hadn't really spoken much since he'd – quite literally – leapt to her rescue.

She'd been too shaken to do much more than thank him as he'd practically carried her back up to the top of the cliff where John had proceeded to make a fuss over her. While, for his part, Sherlock had remained almost eerily silent and contented himself with 'accidentally' leading Peter into trees as they made their way back to the main building.

Lestrade had arrived soon after that, along with a group of uniforms and the ambulance, giving Sherlock a further excuse to avoid her as he filled the Inspector in. A plan which seemed to have been working, until one of the paramedics had forced him to sit down and have the gash on his forehead attended to.

"You're staring," Sherlock commented without looking at her, obediently holding a compress over his left eye, but waving the paramedic away nonetheless.

"Sorry," Molly apologised, looking down at her half empty cup, "it's just…" she shook her head, "never mind," she mumbled, taking a sip of her drink.

"What?" Sherlock prompted, looking a little irritated.

Molly suppressed a sigh and shot him a small, uncertain smile. "Thank you," she said finally, looking up at him, "for coming to my rescue."

Sherlock shrugged a shoulder, "I brought you into this mess," he reminded her, "I would be remiss if I didn't make sure that I also got you out of it."

Molly nodded and concentrated on tracing the rim of her cup with her finger; Sherlock pursed his lips as he regarded her, certain that she had read something into his words that he didn't mean.

This was exactly why he hated sentiment, it was too subjective and difficult to articulate.

"Stop," Sherlock commanded her and she looked up in surprise, "whatever it is you're thinking, just…stop," he said firmly. "There are very few people I care about in this world, Molly Hooper," he continued, "and you are at the top of that list. So whatever it is that you think I meant by what I just told you, that is _not_ what I meant."

Molly blushed and looked away, wondering if he'd even realised what he'd just said, "Ok," she said quietly.

Sherlock gave a brief nod as he turned his attention back to where the police were wrapping up the crime scene, pleased to have the distraction.

He watched as Peter was finally led away and resisted the urge to wrap a protective arm around Molly. He had come perilously close to losing her today and what made it worse was that he had been the one to put her in danger in the first place.

She would never have been there if he hadn't asked for her help on a case; his eyes slid in her direction. He had never felt so out of control as when he'd heard her scream and he'd never been so frightened – _terrified_ – as when he'd reached the edge of that cliff and been unable to see her below.

Jumping in after her had been pure instinct, he _had_ to find her; he wouldn't know how to function without her.

Molly shivered slightly with the cold, causing Sherlock to give into his previous impulse and wrap an arm around her shoulders, consequently enveloping her in his own blanket. She blushed again as she bit her lip, shooting him a grateful smile.

"I didn't save you from drowning for you freeze to death," he told her with a hint of teasing in his tone that took the sting out of his words as he absently pulling her closer against his side.

Her smile broadened a little and she tentatively rested her head against his shoulder, relaxing as he made no move to push her aside. "Thank you," she mumbled, suddenly feeling very tired as the events of the day caught up with her; feeling safe for the first time all week she allowed her eyes to drift closed.

"I'm just glad I got to you in time," he murmured, more to himself than the woman beside him.

In her sleep addled state Molly would never be sure, but she could have sworn that Sherlock sealed his words by pressing a lightening quick, featherlike kiss on her forehead.

...

**A/N: I apologise if anyone seems OOC, but we have seen Sherlock lose it when in the grip of strong emotion, which he is here...**


End file.
